


Cyclical Universe

by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)



Category: Cloud Atlas (2012), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Crossover, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Love, M/M, Past Suicide, Protective James, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reincarnation, True Love, Unrequited Love, at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LivetoDream333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are reborn and he can still remember every previous life, everything… He remembers him and searches for him as his life unfolds around him. Sometimes they meet, sometimes he dies sad and alone, though James hopes his love has never endured the same fate. James never wanted him to be sad. He never want him to be alone.<br/>James changes, his looks change, his mind changes, everything changes, but not his love for him…that is the one constant, always.<br/>His love never changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Endless Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> Well, kiddos, here's my problem. I know I should be writing Dream a Little Dream...but I've gotten distracted with a few other stories, so I'm sort of going to put it to a vote, whichever one draws the most attention/affection wins because I can't make up my mind.

Endless Cycle

 

James sighed heavily and leaned against the door of his flat before he went to the small shelf in the corner. He didn’t have everything, material items always fade after time, in his last life the necklace, woven in the eighth century snapped off of his neck silently, by the time he had realized it was missing, he didn’t know where it had broken…

He never found it, but he had searched until that body was exhausted. On the top shelf was comb (he never picks it up unless he has to, the teeth are brittle), on the second shelf there is a stone (slate grey with a green line pressed into it, perhaps jade, he has never dared crack it open to find out), sharing that shelf was a locket, encased on the front of it a lock of hair (perfectly preserved, they knew what they were doing back then), on the shelf even with his hand were the things that ate at his insides.

Letters and half of a book that gnawed at him, but brought him so much hope and peace that he didn’t care how badly they hurt to re-endure.

It is difficult to track down possessions from an earlier life, a past life. You have to find who you used to be, then find who’s left living from who you were and pray they have something of yours that is precious and they are easily bribed…with anything. He was lucky this time. He was a spy, finding letters that had once been addressed to him—albeit a different him, but still him—was child’s play. His niece had taken care of them as he had asked. He could still remember writing the note, that when a man came to her asking for the letters that she was to give them up, but only if he knew who’d penned them. Finding lost items was easy when you had loyal families in your past life—she’d been all he had in the way of family back then.

He grabbed the stack of letters and poured a scotch before sitting down in his chair, taking a sip before opening the first letter. The handwriting still made his breath catch, beautiful, just as _he_ had been, as he always was.

_Sixsimth,_

The man paused at his old name for a moment before reading on.

_I do hope you will be able to find it in your heart to forgive me. Hated leaving you like that; it wasn’t the goodbye I had in mind._

That had been a beautiful night in Cambridge…perfect.

_By the time you read this, I will be on my way to Edinburgh, on my way to fame and fortune. I know you haven’t heard of him but trust me, Vyvyan Ayrs is one of the musical greats, Sixsmith. The tragedy is that he hasn’t produced any new work in years due to illness._

_My scheme is to persuade him to hire me as his amanuensis and aid him in the creation of a masterpiece, and for shooting up through the musical firmament eventually obliging with a ‘yes’. The son he disinherited is none other than Robert Frobisher, the greatest British composer of his time. I know Sixsmith that you groan and shake your head but you smile too, which is why I love you._

Robert—as he had been in that life—knew him best. He could see into his very soul, and he knew precisely how he would have shaken his head, James was quite sure of that. _He_ was brilliant, radiant, full of ambition and life, and a very gifted man, had only he been appreciated more…

_P.S. Thanks for the waistcoat. I needed something of yours to keep me company._

_Yours, R. F._

James smiled slightly, the waistcoat was gone, but he’d managed to snag one button, it was sitting on the shelf, placed gingerly in a jar, he didn’t want to lose it. He smiled gently and opened the letter he could never quite manage. It tortured him…but he always read it, perhaps searching for a way to find _him_ again.

_My Dearest Sixsmith,_

_It’s done. Finished in a frenzy that reminded me of our last night in Cambridge._

_Watched my final sunrise, enjoyed my last cigarette. Didn’t think that you could be any more perfect until I saw the beat up trilby. Honestly Sixsmith, as ridiculous as that thing makes you look, I don’t think I have seen anything more beautiful. Watched you for as long as I dared. I don’t believe it was a fluke that I saw you first._

_I believe there is another world waiting for us, Sixsmith, a better world, and I’ll be waiting for you there. I believe we do not stay dead long. Find me beneath the Corsican stars where we first kissed._

_Yours eternally, R.F._

He could still feel the blood in his hands. It had poured from the back of his head and into his hands. Part of him thought that if he had held on long enough, perhaps he could keep all of the blood in, but even though he hadn’t been a killer before, he had known deep in his heart that when he heard that gunshot, his love would be dead.

James—Rufus killed himself four weeks later, after he’d gotten everything in order. In that life he was always the less spontaneous one and the more organized, besides he had to ensure the letters survived along with the button that he’d carefully slipped into one of the envelopes.

James remember and _he_ never changes.

When they die, Robert was quite right, they don’t stay dead for long. Sometimes a decade or two, but never more than a century. James was quite sure that they stay in heaven during the interim, together, but that is the one thing James can never quite remember.

Then they are reborn and he can still remember every previous life, everything… He remembers _him_ and searches for _him_ as his life unfolds around him. Sometimes they meet, sometimes he dies sad and alone, though James hopes _he_ has never endured the same fate. James never wanted him to be sad. He never want him to be alone.

James changes, his looks change, his mind changes, everything changes, but not his love for _him_ …that is the one constant, always.

 _He_ never changes. _He_ looks the same every time. Messy hair, sometimes that he fights to tame and other times he lets run wild, green eyes, a perfect smirk, a loving smile, pale, soft, smooth skin…sparse freckles on his back. His personality and talents changed from life to life, but his appearance never does, he was always a bright little boy, an attractive young man, a handsome middle-aged man, and a beautiful old man, but he didn’t often make it to being an old man, that was the tragedy of James’ love. _He_ usually burns so brightly that his time ends too soon. _He_ always is a trouble maker.

James remembers him, everything in every life…

He forgets James…and his face remains the same, James think that it is so he can always find him, if he only looks hard enough. James is born with _his_ face burned into _his_ mind and he lives his life searching for _him_.

Those are the unspoken rules of James' cyclical universe.

It had started in Pompeii, they met briefly as children, spent a year together before James’—then—parents had decided _he_ wasn’t good material for him to be fraternizing with. When they had met as adults it had been fiery, within a month there was nothing to keep them apart, back then people didn’t care that some people were gay, just as well for them… They were burned alive two months into their love affair… The past version of James was holding _him_ against his chest when they were suffocating … _he_ didn’t last long enough to feel the heat, James felt it and was grateful for the fact he’d never felt the fire.

They had many lives together, often having to hide in secret, more than once either of them have been secret lovers outside of their own disastrous married lives, escaping the families they were obliged to have. Once it was easy, James had been a woman that time, but most often they have to hide. They had been in the American Civil War together. James had been a Confederate, _he_ had been too young and a Union. James had found _him_ in the forest after a battle, holding a bleeding arm and trying to get away, how _he’d_ survived in the first place was still beyond James. That had been a scary, but beautiful—albeit short—life for both of them. Once _he_ had seen James was being genuinely kind to him, they fell together easily. They nearly made it a full year, pretending _he_ was one of the Confederates, pretending that they were just friends when they spent so much time together and so many nights huddled close…then the other side recognized _him_ and they hung them both for treason…at least they’d died together and managed to stop a battle with their love.

James downed the rest of his scotch and gently folded the letters, putting away. He was thirty nine and he still hadn’t found _him_. His heart was starting to crack a bit…starting to fade. Perhaps, this time he would die alone…again.


	2. Staying Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to feel a bit weird...but...eh, whatever.

Staying Dead

 

James almost considered staying dead or, rather, becoming dead, until he felt a rather strange tug in his heart and heard the report on telly. That was the only thing that could keep him alive, James didn’t have many, but he had friends in MI6 and they needed him. James watched M walk in and he slowly poured himself a glass, smirking when she jumped. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Enjoying death.” James commented, taking a drink.

“Why didn't you call?”

“You didn't get the postcard?” he asked, putting the drink down as he stood up. “You should try it some time. Get away from it all. It really lends perspective.”

“Ran out of drink where you were, did they?”

 _You’d drink too if you has as much crammed in your head as I do and memories of a lover—no_ the _one and only lover—shooting himself in the head._ He wanted to say it aloud, but he didn’t.  “What was it you said: Take the bloody shot?”

“I made a judgment call.”

“You should have trusted me to finish the job,” he snapped.

“It was the possibility of losing you or the certainty of losing all those other agents. I made the only decision I could and you know it.”

“I think you lost your nerve.”

“What do you expect, a bloody apology?”

  _That would be a nice start…_

 _“_ You know the rules of the game. You've been playing it long enough. We both have.” He thought about it for a moment. Perhaps if James stopped he might actually live long enough to meet his dear Frobisher again. His sweet Robert… Perhaps he could live to taste _his_ skin again, hear _his_ voice, feel _him_ against him…

“Maybe too long.” James agreed.

“Speak for yourself.” She glared at him.

“Ronson didn't make it, did he?”

“No.”

“So this is it. We're both played out.”

“Well, if you believe that, why did you come back?”

“Good question.” He sighed, not knowing. He felt compelled to come back, he didn’t want to, but he’d been pulled back.

“Because we're under attack. And you know we need you.”

One more mission wouldn’t likely destroy him. Perhaps then he could call in a favor, ask someone to help locate his love, find _him_ again. “Well, I'm here.”

“You'll have to be debriefed and declared fit for active service. You can only return to duty when you've passed the tests, so take them seriously.” She said in a brisk manner. Some days James loved her, some days he found pleasure in thinking about punching her. It was the latter sort of day. “And a shower might be in order.”

“I'll go home and change.” James nodded.

“Oh, we've sold your flat, put your things into storage. Standard procedure on the death of an unmarried employee with no next of kin.” She said, sounding a little too smug. “You should have called.”

“I'll find a hotel.” 

“Well, you're bloody well not sleeping here.” James watched her walk away before he rolled his eyes and threw back the glass in one gulp. Robert was on his mind again, if he’d only been a little quicker to _his_ side. If he had only seen _him_ that day, if he’d seen _him_ first he could have saved _him_. If he’d only ran past that damn man, up those damn stairs… He might have stopped _him_ from pulling the trigger. They could have been happy. That life should not have ended as it did. They should have been happy.

James closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember a different time, but that life still haunted, his most recent life was still a ghoul. Robert had wanted to be wanted, to be known, to be cherished. James felt responsible, that he hadn’t been enough for _him_ and it killed James even after he’d killed himself. James felt like he should have been more, he should have been what _he_ needed…but he was never enough for Robert Frobisher. He hadn’t been good enough and he wasn’t going to make that mistake ever again.

800Q8

James listened to Tanner as they were driven to MI6. “The assailant hacked into the environmental control system, locked out the safety protocols and turned on the gas, all of which should have been impossible. On top of that, they hacked into her files. They knew her appointments, knew she'd be out of the building.” Tanner stated.

“They weren't targeting her. They wanted her to see it.” James nodded. Why else attack when she’s nearly back. “Where are we, Tanner?” he wondered, looking around at the tunnels.

“New digs. The old building was declared strategically vulnerable.”

“That's putting it mildly,” James rolled his eyes.

“He was able to breach the most secure computer system in Britain. So we're on war footing now. This was part of Churchill's bunkers. We're still discovering tunnels dating back to before the war. Quite fascinating, if it wasn't for the rats.”

“When do I see M?”

“Tomorrow you'll see M and Mallory, too, if you're lucky.” Would Mallory be a suitable name for his beloved? No…it didn’t sound right to James. He always seemed to sense it if a name sounded…right for _him_.

“Who's Mallory?”

“The new Chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee. Charming man. I think you and he are really going to hit it off.” Tanner stated, though James was sure there was a little bit of sarcasm in his tone. “Welcome to the new MI6…”

One last time, then James would find his dear Robert again.

800Q8

“I'd like to start with some simple word associations.” James wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. “Just tell me the first word that pops into your head. For example, I might say "Day" and you might say...”

“Wasted.” Another day of his life, wasted without Robert…without _him_ , whoever _he_ was in this life.

“All right.” He nodded. “Gun.”

“Luger.” The blood running out of Robert’s head.

“Agent.”

“Provocateur.”

“Woman.”

“Pale.” They all paled in comparison to Robert…to _him_.

“Heart.”

“Target.”

“Bird.”

“Sky.” James nodded.

“M.”

“Bitch.”

“Sunlight.”

“Swim.” James smiled, their first ever summer, they swam together as children nearly every day.

“Moonlight.”

“Dance.” There were many of those between them too, always hidden and secret.

“Murder.”

“Employment.”

“Country.”

“England.”

“Skyfall.” James looked up at him and frowned. Even with all of his new lives things still managed to be traumatic. “Skyfall?”

“Done.”

800Q8

“Okay. Name's Patrice.” Tanner started, pointing to the screen in front of him, as if James couldn’t see it himself. James liked Tanner…but sometimes… “He's a ghost. No known residence or country of origin.”

“So how do we find him?”

“Well, luckily, we still have one or two friends left in the CIA. They're after him for the Yemeni ambassador' s murder, and they're getting close. Intel is he's going to be in Shanghai in two days’ time,  
probably on a job. You're to go there and await further instructions.” Tanner shrugged. “If he turns up, he's yours. Find out who he works for and who has the list. Then terminate him, for Ronson.”

“With pleasure.” James promised.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” M asked from behind him. James stood up straight and looked at her. Sometimes he had the most upsetting feeling that she somehow knew about Robert. That somehow she knew he wasn’t quite…right. That somehow she knew he had a many lives shoved into his mind, burned into memory. Sometimes she looked at him like she knew everything.

“No.”

“Report to the new Quartermaster for your documentation. He hasn't set up shop yet, but Tanner will put you two together.” M nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” James nodded in reply before heading towards the door.

“You are ready for this?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

800Q8

For some reason, his heart skipped a beat as James walked into the National Gallery. James shook it off and walked to the meeting place, sitting down and trying to relax. James heard and felt someone sit down next to him a few minutes later, but he didn’t look, even though his heart attempted to jump out of his chest. Was he really that nervous that a simple person could make his heart pound so frantically? A few months ago it would have taken more than a gunfight and a bombing to get his heart to pound that quickly.

The voice made James’ heart stop.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy.” _He_ sighed. “A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap…” He had been right: they did not stay dead long. _He_ was alive. James felt paralyzed, completely unsure of how to breathe or move or think or even pump blood through his veins. “The inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?” He wondered.

“A bloody big ship.” James barely managed to whisper.

“I’m your new Quartermaster.” He stated simply.

“You must be joking.” James nearly laughed. _We would meet like this. We would be this_.

“Why because I’m not wearing a lab coat?”

“No…it’s just…”

“My age isn’t relevant either if that’s what you’re thinking. I could do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Q snapped. He’d heard it from several people already that day, he was done putting up with it.

“I don’t doubt it.” _He_ was always the smart one…always the one with brilliance shining in his eyes. “Q.” James turned and looked at his precious face, holding his hand out to him. He turned and smiled, before his eyebrows came together slightly.

“007.” He shook James’ hand and stared at him curiously. “Have we met before?”

“I feel like it.” James nodded in agreement.

“Hmm, I swear I’d remember meeting a double-o… Anyway…ticket to Shanghai.” He brushed it off like it wasn’t of any importance to him. It stung James just a bit.

James didn’t want to leave. He never wanted to leave again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	3. Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is it that he's always in trouble or hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Rape, abuse, violence in general. Don't read if any of it triggers you.

Heartbreak

 

Q went home late after the Skyfall assignment, barely able to put his key in the door to his flat. He was tired, beyond tired and angry with himself for causing pain. He managed to push open the door and he put his bag down next to the door before he saw John standing in the living room. “Sorry I’m home late. It was—”

“Home late, Carter? It’s been four days since you came home!” John snapped. John was a tall man, over a head taller than Q, heavy, but well built. His hair was always greasy, muddy blonde and his brown eyes were glazed over, drunk. Q looked down at his watch and his eyes widened.

“Oh, yeah…four days. Sorry, it’s been hell.”

“Hell? In a tech office? What in the hell could you have been doing for four days?!” John took a step away from the sofa and Q spotted four empty bottles on the table, one for each day. Not just small bottles and not cheap bottles. Q’s heart dropped.

“I’m sorry, I was working and lost track of time and—”

“Spend the night at work then, did you? Spend the long, lonely nights with a coworker maybe?”

“No, I didn’t…” Q said, looking around the flat with worried eyes. “I didn’t do anything.” Q swore, heading for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going, slut? I want to know why you’ve been gone for four days.”

“I got caught up in a project, I lost track of time.”

“Where the fuck did you sleep?”

“In the office, but I didn’t sleep much I was—”

“With someone else?” John demanded.

“No—” Q doubled over when a punch landed against his stomach. He fell to the floor with a thud, clutching his mid-section.

“Don’t fucking lie to me you piece of shit.”

“You’re drunk, John, please, we can talk when your sober, just let me—” A boot bashed him in the ribs.

“Who have you been sleeping with? Who in the fuck would want a little nobody like you? You know I’m the only person who could ever want a failure like you. You’re _mine_. You can’t just go whoring around. Do you think anyone else would keep you? Would want a useless, failure for the rest of their lives?”

Q crumpled slightly. John thought he was a failure…if only he knew the half of it. Q felt horrible, sick to his stomach at the realization that he _was_ horrible. He couldn’t even fight off Silva…he’d gotten M killed and nearly gotten 007 killed with her. He was a failure. He’d failed so terribly, so completely.

He deserved this.

He was a failure.

“What in the hell were you doing?”

“I was working, I’m sorry.”

“Wrong answer!” John hissed, kicking him again before he grabbed him by his hair and yanked him up off of the ground and slamming him down over the table. “I’ll teach you who you belong to you little shit. I’ll teach you what happens when you try to fuck your coworkers.” John shouted, ripping at Q’s trousers.

The beating he deserved… Not this.

“Don’t, please don’t. Just listen to me—” Q started to pull away but John slammed his head against the table, enough to jar him. Q tried to pull away as his clothes were stripped from him, but John was much too strong, much too heavy for Q to move on his own.

“Shut up you fucking whore.” John snapped, slamming his head against the table with one hand, slipping his flies open as he did so.

800Q8

Q woke up and slowly rolled over, wincing as he did so. Next to him was a note on the pillow.

I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it. I’ll make it up to you I promise.

“Just drunk…” Q whispered to himself. “Just drunk…” He sat up, but couldn’t help but wish there were different letters addressed to him, letters like the ones he’d found years ago. He got up and whimpered in pain. It was worse than normal. He stood up and took a few deep breaths, looking down at the sheets. There were small spots of blood on the sheets. Q stripped them off and limped to the bathroom, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm himself before he attempted to clean himself up and take pain killers to help him get through the beginning of the day. He looked at himself in the mirror and pulled the sleeves of his cardigan down to hide the bruises on his wrists. The bruise hidden under his hair could be explained if anyone noticed it.

He took a deep breath before he pulled his work bag over his shoulder and left the flat.

800Q8

Q stood in his office, unable to sit down anymore. The medication had worn off. The pain shot up his back when he shifted, so he didn’t move much. He simply worked on the large screen on his office wall with a small pen in his hand to do his work. “Does that explode?” Q jumped and winced before he turned to face James.

“No, simply for computing, only responds to me anyway. Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?” Q wondered.

“Returning equipment to my Quartermaster.” James smiled, loving the way it sounded to call Q his. Then he frowned, seeing how stiff Q was. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Q nodded. “Is anything in decent shape?”

“Beat down a komodo dragon for this.” James smiled, putting down his gun and the small radio.

“I’m impressed.” Q said, taking a step forward and looking at the items on the table. “I was warned about your recklessness in the field and how often I wouldn’t get my equipment back.”

 _I’d do anything to make you happy, my love._ “Well, first impressions and all that.” James smiled.

“Of course.” Q’s phone rang and he looked at it, sighing before he lifted it. “One moment.”

“No problem.”

“Hello?” Q asked

_“Carter…I’ve been thinking…”_

“Can we discuss this later please, John? I’m at work.”

James’ heart fell. It wasn’t unusual for Q to attract attention, he was beautiful. Why did it always surprise him when Q had someone in his life? Why did it always hurt? Why did it always hurt so badly? It was like someone had stabbed him every time.

_“I know that, I just needed to say sorry.”_

“Listen…I—I know, just—” Q ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. James caught a glimpse of a bruise on Q’s head. “Just, let me go back to work. We can talk when we’re at home.”

“ _Don’t hang up on m—”_

“I have to go.” Q said, hanging up and slamming the phone down. “Sorry, that was…unprofessional. I just—”

“It’s alright… You’ve got a bruise there…” James said worriedly, gesturing to his own forehead, where the bruise was purple and black on Q’s head.

“Lab accident, hit my head, slipped on the floor. I have poor balance,” Q shrugged. “Thank you for returning everything in one piece… And…I’m sorry…about M. I wish I could have—”

“Hey…don’t blame yourself.” James said seriously, taking a small step forward. “It wasn’t your fault. I lead the crusade…if anyone was responsible…”

“You can’t blame yourself either…” Q sighed.

“Yes…well, I’ll work on that.” James smiled, wishing he could just reach out and touch Q. Q had someone else, though…he wouldn’t interfere. James never intentionally stepped in-between his love and someone else. It wasn’t his fault the times _he_ came running back for him…but sometimes _he_ never did…and James learned to live with it. He’d never try to disrupt _his_ happiness. James left the room and slowly walked towards the exit, crossing paths with Eve.

“Hello James.” Eve smiled gently, trying to keep a calm face. “Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”

“Just returning my gun. Watch out for that Quartermaster for me, won’t you? He’s been in for an hour and he already has a bruise from the lab. He must have fallen down.”

“Lab? He hasn’t been working in the lab.” Eve shook her head.

“Hasn’t he?”

“No…” Eve shrugged. “Go home, rest.”

“I forgot something in Q’s office, I’ll leave soon, I promise. Just don’t tell Mallory I’m here.” James said before moving quickly back to Q’s office. He opened the door and looked at Q. “Are you alright?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine.” This version of his love was better at lying, but a tell twitched in the corner of his right eye.

“Where did you get the bruise?”

“I told you, slipped and fell.”

“Q…if something’s wrong you need to tell me.” James said gently, but seriously. “I can help you.”

“Help me? With what?” Q asked. James gently grabbed his wrist. Q winced and took a step back, but James held onto him. “Let go of me.”

“You winced, what are you hiding?” James pulled up his sleeve to find bruises around Q’s wrist in the shape of fingers and judging by the way his wrist moved, it was sprained as well. “Who did this to you?” James demanded, anger fueling a fire inside him. Had he been jumped on the way to work.

“Let go of me.” Q demanded, ripping his hand away, pressing it to his chest. “Why do you care?”

“Because you—” James thought about it for a moment. “Because you’re the Quartermaster and…”

“It’s nothing, 007. Now go home, as I recall you weren’t to be allowed on the premises.” Q said, walking around the desk.

“You’re limping. Q…who hurt you? Who did this to you? You need to go down to medical.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine…” Q promised his voice barely remaining level.

“No you’re not.”

“Leave Bond, and don’t you dare say a word.” Q glared at him. James softened and frowned at Q.

“Please, let me help you. Whoever did this…I can stop them. I’ll make sure they’ll never touch you again. I can—”

“It’s not a problem, Bond. It’s not…” Q took a deep breath. “It’s fine, just leave.” James’ heart broke, but he left, he had an investigation to run. He need to find out who had hurt Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love


	4. Only When He Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks Q's sleeping with James and Q's life goes to hell...luckily James is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The triggers remain the same. Violence, abuse, off-screen rape...

Only When He Drinks

 

“John, I thought you weren’t going to drink.” Q commented quietly as they sat in a restaurant together.

“It’s just one drink, Carter, get off of my case. Loosen up a bit.” John said, his tone just a little dark under his teasing.

“You know I don’t drink…” Q sighed, looking down and taking another bite of his pasta.

“Your loss.” John shrugged taking a swig. Q felt eyes on him and he quickly glanced around the restaurant. Walking through the door was none other than James Fucking Bond. Was the damn double-o stalking him now? Damn if the only empty table wasn’t right behind them. James walked towards them and Q silently pleaded that he wouldn’t stop, that he would just walk by.

“Hello, fancy seeing you here.” James smiled gently.

“Carter? Who’s this?” John asked, glancing at Q.

“Sorry, honey, this is James, he works in security at the office.” Q answered. “James, this is my partner, John.”

“Lovely to meet you.” James smiled his most charming smile and shook John’s hand. “You’re a lucky man.” James said honestly, looking John up and down. The man could certainly hurt Q and James hated the idea that he might be shaking hands with Q’s abuser.

“I think so.” John responded.

“Oh, Carter,” the name wasn’t right, it didn’t belong to Q, “speaking of work, Tanner was wondering if you’d figured out that hard drive problem? I never did get down to ask you. Alec and I were badgering Eve.” James half asked, simply wanting to talk to Q a little bit more before he sat down.

“Hard drive problem…? Oh! the burnt out one? Tell Tanner there’s nothing left, it was ruined, the damn fire wiped almost everything, hardly anything left for me to save, so if he’s missing anything precious I do hope he backed it up somewhere else.”

“That’s unfortunate. Can’t say we didn’t try to retrieve it before the…well, _everything_ burned.” James half smiled. He knew Q knew they were talking about a hard drive he and Alec had hunted down…the building in question had been blown up while they were in it and there _had_ been a fire.

“Mm, I’m sure. Must have been difficult.” Q’s tone was flat and sarcastic, the same tone he used when James brought him back broken equipment.

“Yes, well, sorry to bother you two. Have a good night.”

“Of course, Bond.”

“Nice to meet you.” James nodded.

“You as well, James.” John nodded right back at him.

“See you at work.” James commented before heading to his table, put-out when he couldn’t actually watch Q from where he sat, but he did notice Q’s shoulders tense slightly when the waiter approached, dropping off refilled drinks.

800Q8

Q was silent on the way to the flat. The whole ride was silent, but the way John was acting Q knew… Q knew he was angry about something and after he’d seen James the promise of one drink had turned into too many. He was drunk and Q was scared. John was always a violent drunk and very thorough with punishing Q for his sins. Part of Q knew he deserved it, he wasn’t good to his partner or home often enough and he lied to him and he helped people kill others and got his co-workers killed and even had a love for a man who—long ago—wrote to someone else, also long dead. He deserved some sort of punishment for the things he did.

Besides, John was only hurtful when he was drunk.

He really was sweet when he was sober…

That’s what Q always told himself.

They got out of the cab and Q paid the fare before John’s hand was on the back of his neck, applying a firm, controlling pressure on it. Q’s shoulders slummed slightly, a small sign of submission. Q opened the door and John slammed it shut behind him before he pushed Q forward. He stumbled and caught himself a moment later before turning to look at John.

“Who was that?”

“A co-worker. I told you.”

“He looked awfully fucking close to you to be just a co-worker!”

“I swear, he’s just a co-worker.”

“Do you think I’d miss it? I saw the way he looked at you. Do you think that you can just move on to whatever man comes your way? Do you think he’d ever really want you? No one will ever want you but me. He’s just using you because you’re such a fucking cock slut.”

“I’ve never—ah!” Q bowed forward when a fist hit his already bruised middle, the last set of bruises hadn’t yet started to yellow—although, they never really did before new ones covered the old ones. John grabbed him by his hair and ripped his head back.

“Co-workers don’t look at each other like that! So trusting and open! You’re fucking him aren’t you? He’s your great lover you spend hours on end with at work, long past your time, isn’t he?!” It was true, James was typically the reason Q ended up staying at MI6 late, but only when he was in different countries getting shot at.

“No—” A swift knee to his gut.

“Don’t _fucking_ lie to me!” John snapped. “You like fucking him do you? I’ll make sure he never, ever, wants you again. You’re mine, not anyone else’s!” John insisted, throwing Q down to the floor.

“Please—don’t! Please, not again!” Q pleaded, trying to pull away, but his body was too sore to put up any fight. John lifted his face and snarled in his ear.

“You shouldn’t have fucked him then!” John slammed Q’s head against the ground. Q’s glasses snapped and the glass cracked. John tore off his belt and wrapped it around Q’s wrists, holding them down before beginning to rip at Q’s clothes.

“Please…please…”

800Q8

Q opened his eyes and groaned gently before he tried to pull his wrists out of the grip of the belt. He looked at John, passed out on the bed through the open door, before he pushed himself up, slowly, whimpering in pain. He took a few deep breaths before he found his coat and his pants and trousers. He grabbed his work bag and winced at the weight of it on his shoulders before he walked to the door. He froze and turned back around going to the kitchen and pulling out the old letters that he’d hidden before he left through the front door.

Finding a cab meant walking three blocks. Three agonizing blocks that made him feel like everything on his insides was going to come spilling out. Everything burned and ached far worse than it ever had. He wiped his nose, getting rid of the caked blood. He couldn’t see very well and his head was throbbing. He hailed a cab and got in, calling out an address quickly.

“You alright, kid?”

“Fine, just drive.” Q whimpered.

“Alright, kid.”

The drive was too long and Q clung to what strength he had left, hoping it was enough. The car stopped and Q threw money at the cabbie, unable to see what he was giving out. “This is too much, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, keep it.” Q stated, crawling out of the car and over the curb, up the cement stairs, knocking on the door. His body aching, falling apart. The lights turned on as he knocked on the door again, urgent, but weak. The door opened to James Bond, holding a gun in one hand.

“Q…” He breathed, his eyes widening.

“J-James…?” Q whispered before his knees gave out and he fell forward. James caught him, dropping his gun and lifting Q in his arms, closing the door behind them. “I’m s-s-sorry. I didn’t know where to go… I didn’t h-have anywhere to go.”

“Sh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” James promised, carrying Q to the sofa as quickly as he could, hoping to get the man off of his feet as quickly as he could. “Who did this? Who did this to you?”

“He-he’s only angry when he’s drunk…”

“Fuck…” James cursed at himself. He _really_ should have known. “Stay here, I’m bringing you some medical supplies. Try to relax, Q… I’ll make it better, I promise, whatever it takes.” James swore before he left and gathered everything he could to help Q. He walked back into the room and knelt next to Q’s side, his heart breaking for him. Q jumped at the blurred image next to him. “Where are your glasses?”

“Broken.” Q whimpered, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I’ll take care of you, Q… I promise.” James whispered before he reached for Q’s jacket, slowly unzipping it.

“Don’t…” Q begged, his breath heavy.

“Sweetheart, I’m just going to tend to your wounds, nothing more, I promise.” James said gently, tenderly stroking Q’s cheek. “I just want to help you, Q…” Q slowly relaxed.

“Okay…okay…”

“Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay sweetheart?” James asked. He couldn’t stand it. Why must he always see his beloved as he fell apart, as he shattered? It seemed that almost in every life they’d shared his love suffered. He pulled off Q’s jacket and tenderly began to tend to the bruises and the rashes from friction.

“He was d-drunk…he gets—gets angry when he’s drunk.” Q sniffled.

“Shh, you’re safe now, you’re alright, Q.”

“I didn’t m-mean to make him angry. I didn’t mean to… He thought I was unfaithful…I’d I’d never, never.” Q sobbed.

“Hey, now… Sh…” James soothed, gently stroking Q’s face. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing he’s said is right, Q. He’s abusive, you don’t deserve that.”

“But I’m useless. I’m a failure… I couldn’t even fight off Silva. I was supposed to update the security before, but I hadn’t gotten around to it and he got in. And I got M killed and I nearly got you killed and I can’t even figure out how to make my new plans work when it should be simple.  I’m nothing! I just keep failing at everything I do.”

James’ heart broke and he slowly wrapped his arms around Q.

“That’s not true, Q. That’s not true. You’re not useless and you’re not a failure. You’ve saved more lives than anyone else ever has and M wasn’t your fault. She was my responsibility, not yours.”

“But-but…”

“Whatever he’s told you is a lie, Q. You are brilliant. You’re a bloody genius, Q.”

“No…no…’m not.” James pulled away and gently stroked his cheek.

“I’ll prove it to you. I’ll make you see how amazing you are someday.” James promised, unable to keep himself from pressing a gentle kiss to his love’s forehead. Q winced away and James felt a pang of guilt in his heart.

“Can…can I take a bath? Please?”

“Yes, here, let me help you.” James whispered gently, helping Q to his feet. Q tried to take a step, but his knees buckled and he nearly fell to the floor. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” James said, catching him and carrying him to the bathroom. James gently put him down on the floor and turned on the water to the bath. “Do you need—?”

“No…please, just…”

“Alright, call me if you need any help, alright?” James asked gently before biting his lip and leaving the room. Everything in him screamed to go back in there, to be with him, but he knew Q didn’t know him… This version of his love didn’t know him yet, didn’t trust him. James left the room and got some food and medicine around for Q.

James’ whole life shattered when he heard a loud bang.

The first image that came to his head was Robert, lying in a tub, his head blown open, a gun still in his hands. James dropped everything and ran to the door, knocking. “You alright?”

“Sorry…” James felt his knees go weak in relief and he fell to the ground, resting his head against the door. “Dropped something.”

“Alright…just…just making sure.” James wanted to sob. He couldn’t lose him again. Every time he did was worse than death, worse than torture…and he’d just gotten him back.

800Q8

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Q pleaded, leaning against the doorframe, too weak to stand on his own, but he was dressed, and clean, his skin raw from scrubbing and hot water.

“You need medical treatment.”

“No, I’m okay… I just…need sleep.” Q tried to take a step to prove himself, but the floor nearly came up to smack him. James grabbed him and helped him stand.

“You need to be looked at, Q, just in case.”

“No, please… I’m alright…just…please I want sleep. I don’t want anyone else to know… I need… I just…”

“Okay, alright. Whatever you need, Q, alright?” James promised, helping him into the spare bedroom. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…” James whispered, pulling the covers back before he picked Q up, setting him down gently in the bed.

“I don’t understand… I didn’t even do anything this time. He was just so angry…” Q muttered to himself. He looked at James and James felt his heart shatter at the look. “He thought I was fucking you at work… He was always jealous…but… I tried to tell him… He didn’t listen to me. He was drunk…”

“Shh. You didn’t do anything wrong, Q. He is a bad man and he doesn’t deserve you. You’re safe now…” James promised, running his fingers through Q’s hair gently.

“Thank you…for helping me.”

“You have always been there for me, Q.” _Since the very beginning_ , _since fucking Pompeii._ James added silently. “Try to get some rest, alright?”

“Okay…” Q nodded. “Leave the light on please?”

“Of course.” James said, leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss to Q’s forehead before he knew what he was doing. It was just a warm press of lips against his forehead, tender, sweet, and loving. Q subconsciously leaned into it before relaxing against the bed again. “You’re safe here… I promise.” James smiled gently.

“Thank you…”

“Shh, get some rest.” James whispered gently before he left the room and went to his room, sobbing into his hands. How could he have let his love hurt so much? Why hadn’t he been quicker? He could have helped him…he might have helped him…he should have helped him, should have protected him. James was furious and hurt and sad and murderous…and there was nothing for him to do. His love was one of the few things that could ever make him cry…and cry he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love


	5. Dream in Vague Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes it too far, destroying everything of Q's life, his family...  
> James takes him to medical and has the satisfaction of breaking an arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for emotional and physical abuse as well as a panic attack.

Dream in Vague Colors

 

James got up in the morning and knocked on the spare bedroom door, wanting to check on Q. “Q? Sweetheart, can I come in and check on you?” He knocked again, but there was no answer. “I’m coming in.” He opened the door. The bed was made, the whole room was military clean. “Oh no.” James turned and looked around the flat. “Q?” All of his things were gone, the house was straightened up, spotless…but a note was on the counter.

_Thank you. If you could keep this incident to yourself I’d be even more grateful. –Q_

“Oh God, Q…please tell me you’re not going back…”

800Q8

James found Q in his office, fully dressed in a new set of clothes. Thankfully, they were the clothes that Q kept in his office. “007, what can I do for you?” Q asked in a stiff, formal tone. His whole body was held rigidly. So many thought it was because he worked too long…it was far worse than that.

“I just…wanted to check on you. I was worried.”

“Please, just—it’s nothing.”

“Is it?” James demanded.

“Please, Bond, just, leave it alone. I can handle this.”

“Can you?” James asked seriously. He didn’t know. _This_ was new. Sure…James had seen his lover jumped and beaten and hurt and nearly killed. He’d seen him in war in peace in pain in pure happiness. He’d never seen him abused, never seen him so attached to someone who was hurting him…never so broken down. The tell twitched in Q’s eye. He was scared, unsure, worried. The truth that Q didn’t say was: _No, I can’t handle this._

“I’m fine. I appreciate everything. But I think it best you forget. I shouldn’t have gone to you. Just, do what you normally do.”

“And _what_ is that?” James couldn’t forget that, not the way his love was broken, bleeding, beaten and bruised and raped.

 _Drink and fuck it all away…_ Q nearly said it aloud, but his mind was faster than his mouth. He knew just how much that would sound like he was comparing James to John. Surely not everyone was like John…surely James wasn’t… Did he get violent too when he drank? Then again…double-os were always violent. “Just go.”

“You can hardly _stand_ , Q.” James growled and Q stepped back instantly, eyes widening, pulse jumping.

“Leave or I’ll have someone drag you away.”

James opened his mouth and closed it again, fisting his shaking hands and leaving the office. He couldn’t deal with making Q scared or upset as he obviously had. He needed Q to feel safe, to feel comfortable, to feel loved…because that’s what he wanted for Q.

Q watched him leave with wide eyes, staring after the door closed and then sitting down, groaning in pain as he did. He reached into his drawer and downed four pain killers, closing his eyes. He slowly sat up and turned to his laptop working on the long strings of code in front of him. The phone rang, his phone. He answered it, knowing it would be so much worse if he didn’t. “Hello?”

“ _Where the fuck are you Carter_?”

“Work, John.”

_“We’re not done discussing this. Get your ass back home, now.”_

“John, you’re drunk okay? Just—”

“ _Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Carter. Come home now_.” He’d gone quiet and Q winced. It was bad, very bad. He took his work bag and put everything in it into his desk as he spoke.

“No… I have work to do. Sober up and we’ll talk later.”

“ _Carter don’t you dare_ —”

“Goodbye, see you when I get out, honey.” Q hung up on him. He closed his eyes, tears welling up in them. He’d done something very…very stupid. He didn’t let any of them fall before he turned back to his computer, working on the code and clearing his throat as he put in his earpiece. Home problems could wait. He had missions to run, lives to save, a country to defend.

The phone rang once more, but Q didn’t answer it.

It never rang again.

800Q8

Q walked up the stairs and froze at the door to his flat. John would have likely kept drinking all day…he drank when he was angry and got angry when he drank. He’d made a mistake not going home, he’d made a mistake ignoring the call. At least he left his things at work. Q unlocked the door and stepped into the flat, locking it behind him. Something was burning. He moved through the flat and his heart shattered. The last pictures he had of his—now deceased—family were being tossed into the sink one by one, burning. The smoke alarm was unhooked.

“No—!” Q ran forwards and grabbed John’s arm, trying to wrestle even just one photo from him, but he was shoved back against a cupboard. His head hit the countertop and he fell to the ground, the world spinning. Photos burned. His stuffed animal his mother had made him was added next, birthday cards disappeared, wish-you-wells from when he’d been ill were destroyed, his twin sister’s porcelain doll was thrown into the sink and shattered, the dark locks and bright blue dress catching on fire. It was all he had left of her, illness had taken everything else.

The tears were uncontrollable, and if the pounding and heaving of his chest were accurate, so was the coming panic attack.

John turned around and pulled Q up by his collar. “Now do you get it? You’ve been taking something I own and care about from me. Now you know how it feels. I own you and you don’t get to take that away from me.”

Q was so far gone when the beating happened that he couldn’t even feel it. He was too worried about the constriction in his chest, the strangling around his throat, his heart pounding too hard everywhere in his body at once…and everything that he’d ever loved turning to dust.

800Q8

When Q dreamed he often dreamed in vague colors. So dull that they became almost completely grey, with slight hues of color. If he was asked about it, the only thing he could compare it to would be the painting Bathers by Paul Cezanne, but even at that, he’d say the blues were duller, the reds, yellows, and browns greyer.

He dreamt in color that night.

_A low, warm voice vibrated in the chest that was pressed against his back. “Robby…” A warm kissed pressed against the back of his neck. Pale, warm pink flashed under Q’s closed eyelids. He didn’t want to open them, he was afraid to, but he knew that, as a nose skimmed down between his shoulder blades, the hair that tickled his neck was bright blonde. The eyes that were admiring him could be a dark blue or a glittering grey or a mist green…Q couldn’t tell, he’d have to look to know. “Rooobby… I know you’re awake.” Pale pink flashed against his spine in sweet kisses._

_“Shh…sleeping.” Q didn’t say it, but his voice was the one that spoke._

_“Uh-uh. We have all the time in the world to sleep.” Lightly tanned skin grazed down his torso. Unconsciously a hand swatted the other._

_“Stop it…too sleepy for that.”_

_“Mmm, okay.” The hands stopped wandering, and instead traced patterns over his ribs and collarbones, lips and stubble grazed his spine gently, sweetly. Pink and gold. “Hum me a tune?” A chuckle that wasn’t his own vibrated in Q’s chest before he began to hum a familiar tune. “No—one of yours. Please? For me?” Everything came into color when his eyes opened. The room was full of golds and reds and browns all rich and deep. There were even bright red roses in a window sill. Q’s body twisted out of his control, turning in the arms he was in and sitting up, just enough to get both of his hands free._

_A few warm notes were hummed before pale fingers danced over skin keeping time with the hums. A minute in two hands engulfed the paler, thinner ones. “Beautiful…”_

_“Thank you. You inspired it, you know…?” Heat in the color of a warm pink painted the man’s cheeks._

_“I’m honored, my love.” Dark, warm, ocean blue eyes opened. They were blue this morning._

Q woke up feeling both strange and content for a single moment. He never dreamt like that…then he realized what had happened. He knew one of his ribs were most likely broken, judging by the very difficult manner of his own breathing. He felt like he was one bruise, one broken bloody mess. He didn’t remember getting this bad, but then again, he’d lost track after watching all that had been left of his life destroyed in front of him. Tears rolled down his cheeks at the very thought. He looked around the room, seeing John’s phone sticking out of a pair of jeans on the floor. He waited for a moment, listening to the sounds of John moving before he rolled off of the bed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand. He bit the side of his hand to keep from screaming before he stretched out the other and grabbed the phone, quickly tapping in a number.

_“Who is this?”_

“Bond…help me…please.”

 _“Where are you?”_ Q rattled off an address. “ _Hey, I’ll be right there, just hold on, alright? Can you get somewhere safe?”_

“Not likely.”

_“Okay…just hold on, okay? I’ll be there soon.”_

“I’m sorry… You were right.”

_“Sh…it’s not your fault. I’ll be there soon I promise…just hold on okay? Stay with me.”_

_“_ Okay _…”_ Q said. He felt regret, embarrassment. He was a damn MI6 agent. He was a genius. He should have known better. He shouldn’t have been dragged under the spell so easily. He shouldn’t have been fooled. He was so much better, so much stronger… Maybe John had broken him. He used to be so much stronger.

“ _Q, are you with me?”_

“I’m here.”

_“Is he with you?”_

“He’s here.”

_“No, is he with you in the room?”_

“No.”

_“Where are you?”_

“Last door on the right in the hallway. He’s in the kitchen, I can hear him.”

_“Okay, stay right there, I’ll be in to get you soon, I promise. I’m almost there.”_

“Okay…”

The phone didn’t go dead and Q kept it against his ear, just listening to James breathe, listening to him snap at traffic, listening to a door close and the sound of running. It was oddly comforting. Did agents find comfort in the clicks of keyboards or Q’s griping about tea?

“What in the hell are you doing?” Q gasped and jumped, looking at John. The phone was ripped away from him and slammed off before he grabbed Q by his shirt, ripping him off the ground and tossing him against the bed. God it hurt. “Who did you call?”

“John—”

“Who did you call?” The door slammed open in the front of the flat and before John could fully turn around the bedroom door opened a gun pointed into his face.

“Get away from him.”

“Don’t you fucking—” He made the mistake of raising a hand. James snatched it and twisted his arm until he heard a satisfying crack. He’d broken bones, not only in his hand, but in his arm. He screamed and fell to the ground, cradling it.

“Don’t threaten a man with a gun.” James shook his head. “Stay down or I will kill you and it won’t be fast.” James knew he wasn’t going to move. He moved to Q and slipped his gun away before he gently touched his cheek. God…he looked horrible. “Sweetheart…are you alright?”

“No…” He hated admitting it, but at least he kept his voice level when he did.

“Okay, I’m going to carry you out, anything broken?”

“Maybe a few ribs, possibly a wrist, definitely my ankle.” James was furious, but he couldn’t let it show.

“Alright. I’ll try not to hurt you, but this will hurt.”

“Just get me out of here.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” James nodded, picking him up and cradling him close to his chest, quickly getting him out of the building and into his car. He gently laid him out in the back seat, taking off his own jacket to use it to cushion Q’s head. James wanted to stay with him, but someone had to drive. James got into the front seat. “I’m going to take you to medical.”

“No, please don’t.”

“Q, I have to. I know it’s a hit to the pride, I’ve had my days, but you need medical attention. I’ll make sure they keep it discrete.”

“How?”

“I’m 007, if I threaten someone they’ll lie to save their skin, even in their reports. You have to see a doctor…”

“Okay.”

There was no agreeing. James would have dragged him whether he wanted to go or not.

800Q8

Doctor Moore walked up to James quickly. “What the hell happened?”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, all things considered. What. Happened?”

“You will keep this to yourself.” James looked up at him and Dr. Moore nodded. “He’s been being abused by his partner. He only came here because I told you you’d keep it quiet.”

“You knew and you let him go back?”

“I thought he’d be the genius he is and get a hotel—!”

“Genius has nothing to do with that decision, James. Abuse, especially long term abuse does things to people… Look, I’m sorry. Is there anything else I should look for?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s been raped.”

“Multiple times?”

“I believe so.”

“If you don’t kill the bastard who did this, I will. You’ll owe me a few good punches as it is… I’ll put down that it was a mugging or something, but damn it, Bond…”

“I almost killed him.”

“What stopped you?”

“Q had enough blood on him.”

“I’ll be back in a short while, going to get this done while he’s still out. You can see him then.”

James waited, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground a habit from two lives ago. He clenched his fists and stood up, pacing. He couldn’t stand it when he was hurt. He hated it. Every bit of him screamed out how _wrong_ it was for him to hurt. Someone so beautiful shouldn’t have to feel pain.

“James?” It had been too long…but James was headed for Q’s room in an instant. He frowned when he saw the small, fragile body he knew so well surrounded in tubes and white, white sheets. He sat down next to him and gently brushed his hair out of his forehead before pressing a kiss to it tenderly.

“I’m so sorry… I fucked up again…and you got hurt again. I’m so, so sorry, my love.” James whispered, gently running his fingers through his hair before settling in. He wasn’t leaving Q’s side.

800Q8

Alec peeked into the room and frowned at James. “It’s _him_ …isn’t it?” Alec wondered, closing the door behind him and taking half a step further into the room. Alec was the only person James had ever told, the only person he’d ever trusted enough to talk about his past lives with. Alec thought he was crazy, but didn’t judge him. He hadn’t met the new Q yet. He had been in deep cover for eight months, going under right before MI6 blew up. But he knew that face, even under the bruises. He’d seen it in paintings and old photographs.

“Yes… He’s Q.”

“Fuck…you two do meet in strange ways.” Alec sighed. “I heard we got a new boffin… I was going to ask you about him, but you are biased so… I won’t.” Alec walked forward slowly, looking down at Q. “Is he going to be alright?”

“I hope so.”

“What are you going to do? Will you tell him?”

“Did it go over well with you?”

“I thought you were insane.”

“Now imagine being the subject of the insanity.”

“Good point…” Alec nodded. “You’ll be standing vigil then?”

“Mmhm.”

“Coffee?”

“You’re the best.”

“And that’s changed from usual, how?”

 

 

Free-ish

 

Q woke up and felt comfortably numb. The feeling was _truly_ brilliant. Painkillers were good. Q slowly opened his eyes and blinked, trying to clear them. To his right he saw none other than James Bond sleeping in the chair next to his bed. The fact that he was blurry reminded Q that his glasses were gone…most likely broken…at his flat.

Why was _James Bond_ there? Q supposed they had a small friendship between them…but why was he there, for what could have been hours…days? Did he feel some need to look after him? Was he just being protective? Did he feel guilty?

—God Q was thirsty. He looked to his left and saw a small pitcher on the table. He shifted over and reached for it, wincing as he did.

“You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” James went from asleep to wide awake in an instant. James walked around the bed and poured Q a glass of water. “Here, don’t hurt yourself…” James helped to put the glass in Q’s uninjured hand. Q took a sip and cleared his throat.

“Why am I still here?”

“Because our Quartermaster seems to have gotten himself jumped on the walk home. Luckily he has all the double-o agents’ numbers on speed dial.” Dr. Moore said, walking into the room with a chart. Q looked at James, a silent ‘thank you’ in his eyes. “I thought I’d come in to check on you. How are we feeling?”

“Numb, can I keep this stuff?”

“Ha-ha, no. I deal with enough drug addicted people, you do not get to keep those. They’re just for while you’re here, okay? How’s your pain?”

“Minimal.”

“Alright, that’s good. Any concerns off file that I should know about?”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I wish we had the polite ones down here more often…well, you know—not really, but you get my point.” Dr. Moore chuckled. “Can we kick out your body guard so we can have a talk?”

“Yeah.” Q said after a moment. He didn’t want James to leave, but he knew he’d be alright. James slowly got up and left the room, sitting outside for several minutes, waiting… A while later Dr. Moore came back out and nodded to James.

“Let him rest, but you can go in.”

“Thank you.” James nodded, getting up and once again taking a post next to Q. Q didn’t say a word, but he smiled slightly and relaxed, relenting to sleep.

800Q8

“Do you need to go back and get anything?” James wondered. “I can—”

“No need.” Q said. “That’s how my night started.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he took everything I owned and burned it…that’s why I couldn’t fight back…I was far too busy having a panic attack watching my dead family’s things burn. All the clothes can be replaced. I don’t want anything that was there.”

“Alright…” James smiled.

“Why do you care so much? No one else would.”

“I care for you Q, I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but Moneypenny’s my friend and she isn’t lurking all day and night.”

“She isn’t as protective as I am.” James shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Not going to argue with me?”

“I’m too tired to argue or bicker… It was good you know…at one point… I mean we weren’t a love letter sort of couple but…when I lost my family he was my best friend and took care of me… We dated and he was so sweet. He gained strength and control slowly, I suppose… I just didn’t see it coming… I was an idiot, for a genius. Suppose I’m better off alone. I tend to ruin things.”

“It _wasn’t_ your fault.”

“This? Perhaps not…but things do have a habit of going sour around me and I’m tired of it.” Q sighed heavily. “I get to go tomorrow though. Tanner managed to get me a flat, so…that’s nice. One more chance to restart is always good isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.” James sighed and smiled at the man who should never has been forced so low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love


	6. Our Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months later James spills something to his friend Q that freaks him out a bit...  
> But all's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Rufus and Robert.

Our Lives

 

It was months since the incident and Q seemed better, happier, but the scars were still there. James constantly wished he could just tell him and hold him and sooth him and wipe away all of the pain. This time, this life, things were different. Q didn’t remember anything, certainly not James, but he did seem more aware, that perhaps this wasn’t his first ride on the train of life. Sometimes he looked at things with such a strange interest that it made James wonder if he was remembering a past, one of their pasts. James walked into Q’s office after his second back-to-back assignment in a week. He had old letters in his hands and he was reading them quietly to himself.

“My dearest Sixsmith,” Q started, almost a whisper, so transfixed he hadn’t even heard James enter.

“Where did you get those?” James demanded instantly. He jumped and turned to look at James with wide eyes, obviously startled.

“The Frobisher letters? I found them.” Q commented. “Why do you ask?”

“Where did you find them?”

“Okay…a bit touchy...” Q said, putting them down and holding up his hands in a sort-of surrender. “I found them on a tour of an old composer’s home. I don’t know why but I felt the need to walk next to the bed. I found a loose floorboard and there were letters underneath it, as well as an old journal, but only half of it. It’s quite upsetting, I have always wondered what the end to the story was. Why do you ask? Do you know about Robert Frobisher?”

“I have some of the letters as well. What are yours about?”

“Oh, they’re all penned to a Rufus Sixsmith. They’re the letters he never sent and I have a few from Sixsmith somewhere, Rufus wrote some of the sweetest things to him. I don’t know. I always seem to read them when I feel a bit…” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, upset isn’t the word…perhaps lonely or nostalgic is the word. Sorry, I lose it a bit around these damn things.” He said, putting the paper down. This had never happened before. He’d never found something of theirs before.

“Would you mind meeting tonight? To look at the letters. I think I have a bit of the tale you’re missing and you have something I’ve never heard before.” James offered.

“Oh, sure. Erm…not my flat though, it’s sort of a top secret thing, sorry.”

“No, I understand. Seven alright with you?”

“Barring an emergency.” He smiled at James and his heart sped.

_God he is beautiful._

800Q8

James walked to his door when he heard the knock and his breath caught when he saw Q. “Hello, 007, mind if I come in?”

“James,” he corrected, opening the door for him. Q bit his lip but smiled at James slightly.

“Gabriel.” Q replied simply, not knowing quite why he felt comfortable telling someone his name, even Bond. He hadn’t even told his old boyfriend his real name. He hadn’t told anyone.

“Here, you should get that coat off, it’s been pouring.” James said gently. It was cold. The last thing he wanted was for Q—Gabriel—to become ill. He was always so small, and although he was typically very resilient to illnesses, James didn’t want to ever take the chance with him. James gently helped him shrug off the coat and Q blushed slightly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” James smiled as he moved to hang the coat up. “Make yourself at home.” James called, making sure to hang the coat next to a furnace. He knew Q was always cold, he was just so scrawny, hardly any meat on his bones. James wanted to make sure that he was never cold. James returned to the front room to see Q looking at the shelf he had with interest. “Tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Q said, turning to smile at him shyly. “You’ve got quite an…eclectic collection, everything else here is so modern and then a shelf of many things. It’s curious.” Q stated. “Some of these things must date back…centuries.”

“Yeah…”

“No explanation then?” Q wondered, a button was in his hand and he looked at it with a strange look on his face.

“Not that you’d believe.” James commented.

“This button is…beautiful.” Q shook his head before he put it back where he’d found it. “Sorry,” he said before he sat down on the sofa.

“How do you take your tea?” James wondered.

“Depends, usually a bit of honey and a very small dash of milk.” Q commented. James smiled and measured out exactly how he knew Robert had liked his tea before he brought it into the front room and handed it to Q. He took a sip and his eyes widened. His tastes never varied much. “Well, that’s…exquisite. You hit the nail right on the head with that.”

“I try.” James said before he sat across from him, putting his letters down.

“That’s remarkable, you actually have letters by Robert Frobisher.” Q commented, pulling out the letters he’d tucked protectively against his chest. “Where did you get them?”

“A woman gave them to me, Sixsmith’s niece.”

“Really? She just gave them to you?” Q wondered.

“Said I might enjoy them.” James lied with a shrug.

“May I?”

“Of course.” James nodded and Q picked the letters up with curious eyes, looking over each of them as though they were precious. “I assume you’ve done research on Robert Frobisher and Sixsmith.”

“Yes, I did as soon as I found the letters. I stole them and barely managed to sneak them out without anyone noticing that I’d taken anything from the house. I just liked them. They made my heart feel this ache…I suppose. I even found this, you might find it interesting. You see, Robert Frobisher wrote one piece, the Cloud Atlas sextet. Now, only fifteen copies of it exist in the world, until about thirty years ago when three were badly damaged in a fire. I found one of them, took me ages, but I found it and digitized it.” Q said, pulling out his phone and touching the screen a few times before music filled the air. “It’s absolutely beautiful.” James closed his eyes and listened to it, trying to hold back the tears. He’d never heard anything so beautiful. He had searched for the song, but had never found it. Q sipped his tea as he finished the letters, feeling calm as he listened to the music, feeling content.

“That was beautiful.” James nodded after it had finished.

“I’ve always found it rather soothing, I play it sometimes when I’m stressed. Usually when you’re in the field and everything’s going to shit and I realize I won’t be getting my equipment back or any sleep.” Q teased. “Would you like to read the ones I have?”

“Would you mind reading them to me?” James asked. He wanted to hear them read in Robert’s voice.

“Lazy.” Q smiled before he opened one up. “ _Sixsmith, I hate to write such terrible things in your direction. I’d much rather not burden you with them, but I can’t help but feel this compelling urge to talk to you. I’m scared, Sixsmith. Just the other night I had the most awful thought that my life shall never mean anything. What is a life worth living if it has no meaning? Why do I ask myself these things, Sixsmith? Of course, you would sit there and tell me that I am worth too much to have such thoughts and I would try to not secretly think you insane… I suppose I won’t send this to you, you needn’t be needlessly burdened by me. Penning this has made me feel…better._ ”

“Do you know what happened? In the end?” James asked, looking at Q.

“Frobisher shot himself, I know that much… I know a few weeks later Sixsmith was found dead as well.” Q said sadly. “I don’t know why Sixsmith would kill himself though. While they were obviously in love, Frobisher never saw Sixsmith properly. Why else would he think he was of such little worth when he received such loving letters from the man? If anything Sixsmith should have moved on, Frobisher was blind to the love and adoration Sixsmith had for him. Sixsmith should have found someone who would appreciate his love.”

“Did you know that Sixsmith heard the gun go off? That he found Frobisher just a moment too late?”

“No, that’s terrible. How did you find that out?” Q wondered.

“Research.” James shrugged. _I was there._ “The next one?”

“ _My dearest Sixsmith, The piece I have begun, the Cloud Atlas, I wish you could see it as it takes shape. I woke last night, my head resting on a pillow and was inspired to add another section to it. If you only knew where it all came from. There are lines dedicated to the sound of your heartbeat beneath my ear, lines that follow the curve of your smirking lips, lines that arch like your spine in the throes of passion, and lines that somehow manage to capture the way you make my heart beat when your eyes meet mine. It’s beautiful…as are you. It is as though I’ve somehow managed to capture_ you _… This is yet another letter I will likely never send, for you would laugh at me and call me a woman, but it is true… This song is so much of you. Perhaps one of the few things in my life I ever did right: you.”_ Q finished before opening another letter. “ _Sixsmith, I fear that this song will be the end of me. It points out, with such damned ease, everything that I lack, every flaw, every wrong… I look at it and sometimes it’s like looking at my life. There are good lines, lines made of you and everything I should want, and then there are the dark notes, so obvious the flaws in the music, but hatefully everything works so perfectly. As I race through it, I feel as though I am racing through my own life, I’m seeing all of the wrongs, all of the ones that outnumber any good quality I may have, and even my good qualities have become so obsessive I fear that they wander into dangerous territory. I don’t feel like myself, Sixsmith… I’m scared. It is a selfish wish I have to see you, but I know if I could see your beautiful face again, I’d only weigh you down. I have my many faults, but I shall never allow myself to get to the point where my faults could ever taint you. Why are you so damn perfect and why should you care for the likes of me? That may haunt me more than this piece._

“This is the last I have from him…” Q commented slowly. “ _My dearest Sixsmith, If only I could hope you might still be mine. I can only say I am sorry. I do not know how to say it, how to tell you that I truly am sorry to the depths of my soul. As stated, the night with Jocasta was merely a carnal act done in service, nothing like my nights with you and with none of the feelings attached. I simply don’t find women appealing in that way… But, Sixsmith, I can’t help but feel myself as one big wrong. I’ve found myself intellectually drawn to Vyvyan Ayrs. It makes me hate myself that I’ve found something in someone I’m utterly attracted to, when I have you. You should be everything to me, because you_ are _perfect, so perfect. The feelings for him were fleeting, but just enough to show me how dreadful a person I am, to have such feelings for him when you are so obviously the only thing I should ever want. I despise myself, Sixsmith._

 _“How can you love a man such as me? I must do nothing but hurt you. I shall endeavor to do no more… I no longer wish to hurt you as I must have. I won’t— I can’t see you hurt and I will be damned if I ever am the cause of your pain. I’m sorry… I am so sorry. I hate myself for hurting you, and I hate myself all the more because he spoke foul things of me and all I wanted was to run to you and have you hold me in your arms. Am I truly that selfish? Such a selfish creature that I call on your love when I need it and yet cannot manage to give you the love you deserve, even as I feel it well up in my chest with enough pressure that I expect one day it will burst… I hate myself…and I shan’t make you suffer me as I now suffer.”_ Q shook his head. “Then he must have actually wrote Sixsmith about the gun and leaving…” Q said, linking the two groups of letters together. “The man was an idiot, he should have known better than to kill himself, Sixsmith obviously loved him through his flaws, Frobisher simply didn’t see that and was more worried about himself than who he would hurt by his death. He was selfish, I suppose he was right about that.”

“Don’t talk like that.” James stated. He finally understood it, his love had felt guilty and worthless…he could have only solved half of it, all of it had Robert only spoke to him.

“I suppose you’re on Frobisher’s side then.”

“Robert,” James corrected as Q took a sip of his tea.

“Robert then… How can you not see how selfish he was?”

“You have letters, you don’t know him.” James insisted. He knew Robert, he knew the pressure he’d been under, he knew what Robert had been put up against…he just wished he would have been there for Robert just a little bit more.

“Neither do you, James.” Q commented, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Didn’t know you’d be so passionate about a dead man’s life.”

“It’s not…it’s complicated Gabriel…” James sighed, getting up and putting his letters up on the shelf where they belonged.

“I have a relatively high IQ.”

“I know that.” James sighed. He’d never done this before, but he decided he was going to. “What do you believe in?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you religious?”

“Catholic, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“What if I could tell you that heaven and hell are real, but for some people they don’t…they don’t stay dead long?”

“I would tell you that death is permanent.”

“It isn’t… God, I’ve never told you this before, I don’t even know where to begin. I mean thousands of years and I’ve never just told you.”

“We haven’t known each other that long, though without sleep sometimes it feels like life drags on a thousand years.”

“No, you don’t get it.” James sighed, standing up. “I’m not embellishing or making this up. I’ve lived a lot of lives, Q.”

“You’re a spy. You _have_ a lot of different lives.” Q said, not understanding.

“No, like… Last time I was here, on Earth, my name was Rufus Sixsmith.” James told him.

“I think you may have hit your head, Bond.” Q said, before he stood up, taking a step back. “Get some rest.” James grabbed his wrist, Q’s breath caught, not liking that he’d been grabbed.

“Let go.” Q said, his voice cracking, scared, and weak. James loosened his grip, but kept him there, still holding him gently.

“I haven’t hit my head. The first time we met your name Quintus—which is a bit ironic now, looking back—you’ve been Benjamin and John and Richard and Ishmael and Sidney and Keith and Jean and Sebastian and Edward and, most recently, you were Robert Frobisher.”

“I should go, really, get some sleep, Bond.” Q said, pulling his arm out and heading for the door, grabbing his coat from near the heater.

“You have a freckle on your right shoulder blade. You don’t have hair on your chest, it’s just soft, white skin. You have a birthmark on your left thigh, just above your knee, it’s red and almost looks like a butterfly.”

“Have you been spying on me in the work showers or something?” Q demanded a little more than freaked out. He _trusted_ James.

“You like all of your teas with a touch of honey, but if anyone puts anything in a cup of Earl Grey or Oolong you throw a fit. You have an erogenous spot behind your right ear, but not your left. You also have one on the curve of your spine and one on your left hip that you never tell anyone about because you feel that it makes you look feminine even though you get the upmost pleasure from kisses and bites there.”

“How can you possibly know any of that? You’re making it up.” Q commented.

“Am not.” James disagreed.

“Well, whoever you asked for that information, they lied.”

“I didn’t have to ask.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ve made it up.”

“You’re saying it’s not true? Q I know it’s true.”

“I don’t even know that! It’s my body, I think I would know if you were lying.”

“You poor man…no one’s ever treated you right in this life have they?” James wanted to kill them all.

“James, stop, honestly, whatever you’re trying to do it’s not going to work, just go to bed and I’ll go home and we’ll forget this.”

“You have a freckle on the arch of your right foot.” James stated. Q paused. “I couldn’t have known that without having actually held your foot in my hand before, it’s small, a pinprick almost.”

“So you want me to believe that somehow you’ve met me in another life and that I happen to look similar.”

“No, you see, you always look the same. You have a different personality and different talents, but your face never changes. I’m the one who changes, but I remember everything and you forget.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“You can, the first time we met you knew me, you said I looked familiar, you looked at those letters with heartache, you feel content when you listen to the song… Can’t you see the evidence?” James asked. “Wait here, just…don’t leave.” James pleaded before he went to his room and pulled out a folder, bringing it back into the living room, happy to see Q hadn’t left. “Look,” he stated holding out the folder to Q. Q slowly began to glance through the pages, looking at old photos, drawings, and portraits…of him. They were all him. The canvas on one of the paintings was obviously old. Q pulled it out and James reflexively grabbed his wrist. “Careful, they’re really old and precious to me…”

Q examined the canvas with wide eyes. He’d studied enough about art to know that it was real and that it was several centuries old. “How…? That’s my face.”

“I was a painter once… I talked you into a nude once, but it burned. I cried.”

“I don’t understand…how is this possible?” Q asked, sliding the canvas back where it belonged. “Shit, is that a US Civil War uniform?” He asked two pages later.

“Yes.”

“Both of us? That’s obviously you… Don’t know how I know that, I just do.” Q said, looking at the picture.

“It’s us.”

“Americans? Hard to believe.” Q scoffed. “Confederates?”

“ _I_ was.” James frowned.

“That’s a strange distinction. I take it I was an enemy then…”

“I found you, injured in the woods. I knew you the instant I saw you, it took me a while, but I convinced you of my pure intentions. I fixed you, cleaned you up and got you out of your uniform, put you in a Confederate uniform so that they wouldn’t kill you. It was lovely while it lasted.”

“What happened?”

“Hung for treason.”

“Ouch…” Q rubbed his neck.

“You’re not kidding. At least your neck snapped, praise heaven for little miracles. I wasn’t dead quite so fast, but it was quicker than some of the deaths I’ve had.”

“They killed you too?”

“They tried to drag you away from me… I wasn’t going to just sit back and watch you die…again.”

“Do you always see me die?”

“Most of the time, yes. You just burn so damn brightly…” James whispered, cupping Q’s face in his hand, tenderly stroking his skin. “Then you burn out and leave me behind…”

“Stop that,” Q said, taking a step back. “I can’t…” Q backed off slowly. “This is impossible.”

“Gabriel…it’s… I know it seems impossible, but I know you, well most of you, still working out the new personality, but I know what you like, what you hate… I know you, you can’t not see that.”

“James, stop…just…stop. This is insane.” Q shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you… I shouldn’t have. I’ve never told you before…”

“Why? If you think we’ve met all of these times why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because it usually works out…usually we end up together anyway.”

“The other times…?” The question was clear. What if they didn’t just _happen?_

“You’re married…you’re in love with someone else…and I leave you alone… Except for once, I was a mistress once. Then there was that one time…well, that time doesn’t…well, it was short so…”

“I don’t know… I can’t. Just don’t—”

“You don’t have to do anything… You don’t owe me anything… I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” James whispered. “But I love you, I do…always have and always will.”

“I have to go.” Q put down the photos and moved to grab his coat, pulling it on before leaving the flat. James stared after and sighed heavily, looking down.

He may have just lost him all over again.

There was a knock on the door.

James rushed forward and opened it. Q looked at him through the rain.

“I don’t dream in color…” Q said simply. “I never have…but when I do, it’s that man in the photograph. It’s the man in the Confederate uniform with green eyes. It’s Sixsmith in a bed with blue or grey or green eyes, depending on the morning sun. The room is—”

“Gold and red…with a golden bed and white sheets.” James finished. There were tears in Q’s eyes.

“Please tell me I’m not insane.” Q pleaded.

“No, you’re not.” James whispered, pulling Q out of the rain and into his arms. Q felt just as safe and loved in James’ arms as he did in his dreams.

“I had always dreamed of such sweet love but I never thought I could have that.”

“Q...Gabriel… I’ve loved you since the day we met almost two-thousand years ago and I haven’t stopped for a single moment of it.” James promised before kissing Q sweetly, lovingly. Q kissed him back and for a brief moment, it was like stepping into a pair of old, familiar shoes…but it was also so new, so exciting, so…perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love


	7. Epilogue: Cyclical Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the future, they meet again.  
> This time, Joel finds Antonio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished it. Whoo...  
> It was a bit weird I know...but this is how it flowed.

Epilogue: Cyclical Universe

 

In 2015 something happened for the first time. The Quartermaster of MI6 married a Double-o. Five years later James Bond retired—a shocker to everyone who knew him. He would be forever known as the best Double-o there ever was, a legend. In 2036 Q retired as the Quartermaster with the best opp outcomes there ever would be—a beloved legend all his own.

The tombstones didn’t say those things. They were actually rather simple for such decorated men:

_CMG RN James Bond_

_1975-2061_

_Loving Husband_

_Loved for a thousand years._

His husband’s grave was planted next to him:

_Gabriel Bond_

_1980-2072_

_Loving Husband_

_Loved for a thousand more._

Nothing of their lives was left but these…someone had stolen what had been left to the young girl named Amanda who had taken over after Gabriel had retired.

2093

A twenty year old man ran down the street, many looked at him strangely as he did… Who ran like that anyway? But he seemed to be chasing a man who walked on the other side of the road, a man who didn’t acknowledge him as he shouted. “JAMES BLOODY BOND IF YOU DON’T TURN AROUND THIS INSTANT I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The young brunette growled under his breath and raced across the street and nearly tackled the man. He didn’t have blue eyes, they were grey and his hair was a chestnut color, but the brunette knew. He could feel it. The man turned and looked at the younger man and his eyes widened.

“It’s you!”

“Yes it’s me.” The younger man laughed breathlessly before he was pulled into a kiss. “Good to see you too.” He sighed when they pulled apart.

“So…what’s your name?” The chestnut-haired man asked in an Italian accent. The British brunette laughed.

“Kiss first and then ask for a name?”

“Well…I missed you…”

“Joel.” Joel nodded.

“Antonio.” Antonio nodded in return.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way…you can kiss me again.”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love.


End file.
